There never was a face as fair as yours,A heart as true, a love as pure and keen.These things endure, if anything endures.But, in this jungle, what high heaven immuresUs in its silence, the supreme sereneCrowning the dagoba, what destined dieRings on the table, what resistless dartStrike me I love you; can you satisfyThe hunger of my heart!

Nay; not in love, or faith, or hope is hiddenThe drug that heals my life; I know too wellHow all things lawful, and all things forbiddenAlike disclose no pearl upon the midden,Offer no key to unlock the gate of Hell.There is no escape from the eternal round,No hope in love, or victory, or art.There is no plumb-line long enough to soundThe abysses of my heart!

There no dawn breaks; no sunlight penetratesIts blackness; no moon shines, nor any star.For its own horror of itself createsMalignant fate from all benignant fates,Of its own spite drives its own angel afar.Nay; this is the great import of the curseThat the whole world is sick, and not a part.Conterminous with its own universethe horror of my heart!